My grief is intermittent, fleeting

Yet when it is, immense

But why?

Is it for you?

Is it for me?

Is it merely for what could have been?

But that I hardly cared to make happen

While it could have.

So what gives?

What hurts?

Why do the eyes well up?

Why does the heart tug thus?

Why is there a desire for one last chat

and a goodbye properly said?

Why the want for a little more

of your time, for you and for yours?

When it matters not to you.

Or to the flow you are so a part of.

The mind tells me you are peace.

And the rest will settle.

What is this grief then? What for?

Is it for you?

Is it for me?

Is it merely for what could have been?

A desire to keep permanent

That which never is?

Pretence?

Sameer Shisodia

I speak my mind.

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